"When you think someone is immortal—and they're not—it's a hard thing to swallow, man." – Rob Salminen

In this special episode of Celluloid Zeroes, Mike Carlon is joined by his twin brother Jimmy "Doubts" Carlon and longtime friend Rob Salminen to reflect on the passing of the immortal Hulk Hogan—wrestling icon, childhood hero, and larger-than-life figure. Together, they share deeply personal memories of how Hogan and the spectacle of 80s wrestling shaped their youth, examine the physical and emotional toll on the wrestlers of that era, and wrestle (pun intended) with what it means to say goodbye to the icons of our upbringing. Funny, heartfelt, and brutally honest—this is one for every child of the 80s.

1. Hogan as a Cultural Icon – From Rocky III to WrestleMania, the rise of Hulkamania mirrored Reagan-era America's appetite for clear heroes and villains.

2. Wrestling as Theater and Trauma – The crew reflects on the physical toll of "fake" wrestling and how many stars paid the ultimate price.

3. Nostalgia and Innocence – Remembering wrestling not just as entertainment, but as a shared experience of friendship, imagination, and youth.

4. Fading Heroes, Aging Fans – Wrestling with mortality as the larger-than-life figures of our childhood pass away—and what that says about where we are in life.

5. From Role Model to Tabloid Target – A candid discussion of Hogan's controversial moments and his attempts at redemption.

6. Why Heroes Don't Resonate Today – Examining generational shifts and why today's youth reject the clear-cut archetypes of yesteryear

Brother Jimmy and I are joined by our old friend Rob Salminen to discuss the 1989 abomination that is No Holds Barred.

What happens when you take one of the most recognizable entertainment figures of the 1980s and pair him with his boss to co-executive produce and write a movie about wrestling? Well, you don't get an Oscar winner, that is for sure.

Perhaps the best thing about this movie is the conversation it spurred about what wrestling meant to us as kids and the laughs we had while doing so.

To give a callback to a key scene in the movie, this flick is a steaming pile of dookie and worthy of the title Celluloid Zero.

When God said, "Let there be light," Chuck Norris said, "Say please!"

This is the most dangerous episode of Celluloid Zeroes as Jim and I take on a most formidable opponent—Chuck Norris. However, even Chuck can agree that 1982's Silent Rage is not his best work. He's never said as much, but actions speak louder than words and a sequel has never been made, even though the ending of this absolute zero set up a potential franchise.

While the movie is pretty terrible, it does bring us back to a simpler time when spinning back kicks are all you need to combat a psychopathic indestructible killer whose body can heal instantaneously. Also, it's always fun seeing a 1980s take on mad scientists and biker gangs (whose members look as if they all were extras in a Judas Priest video).

Listen in as Jim and I ask the big questions such as, "Who in the hell greenlit this thing?" and hypothesize the important role this movie plays in Chuck's career, which took off just a few years after this film came out. Yes, since then time has been good to Chuck Norris, even though time waits for no man (unless that man is Chuck Norris).